Asphodel
by helxium
Summary: —and he would remember the girl with fire for eyes and her sensei's will emblazoned on her heart. SasoSaku. Reincarnation!AU (if you squint).


**title:** asphodel  
 **written by:** helxium  
 **summary:** —and he would remember the girl with fire for eyes and her sensei's will emblazoned on her heart. [SasoSaku] Reincarnation!AU.  
 **writer's note:** because Sasori was the only one who brought out the fire in Sakura. Kazekage Rescue Sakura is best Sakura, fight me.

 **...**

Sasori hadn't known how long he'd wandered the plane, only knows that time felt like a second and a millennium all at once. There wasn't much company there—only shiftless faces, shells of their former bodies, left to straddle the intersection of life and death. He compared it to his existence on earth—

Not human, not puppet—just there. Existing.

The afterlife, short of words, was horribly anticlimactic.

An expanse of gold-green grass and altostratus stretched out as far as the eye could see, and Sasori knew if he ever ventured out, it would only extend further, until his resolve was crushed and he was caught in maddening rage.

He took to twisting a star-shaped flower that lay scattered in patches, an unreadable expression on his otherwise blank face. With no means of wrecking havoc, Sasori found himself mulling over his life, contemplating over countless _'what if's'_ and _'maybe's'_. He couldn't have imagined himself staying in Suna—no, a dull place like Suna could never satiate his thirst.

For a time, he wondered how things might've turned out had he not joined the Akatsuki. He wouldn't have met Orochimaru, who, as much as he loathed to admit, had provided him with insight as a fellow seeker of immortality, nor would he have met the ever irksome Deidara—

He paused.

Had he forgotten something?

 _"Chiyo-baa-sama!"_ A mop of russet hair. Dazed, hazy eyes, a dulcet voice, muddled in happiness—

 _Ah_. It was him.

 _"Are otou-sama and okaa-sama back?"_ His smile was almost sickeningly hopeful—pitiful, really—only to drop at the forlorn twist on her mouth. _"...they're not?"_

 _"W-well,"_ How pathetic. _Pathetic_. _"Your mother and father were suddenly called in for another mission. It looks like they won't be back for...a while."_

 _White lies, old hag_. In retrospect, he should have picked up on it sooner.

She had always been a terrible liar.

 _"I just heard from them and they want you to wait with me until they return."_ An amicable smile, shrouded in nothing but _lies_. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to resent her. _"Can you do that, Sasori?"_

 _"...yes."_

They were already lost to him then, he realized, feeling prickly.

He saw himself creating Mother and Father—his first. He felt their cool, wooden embrace, strung together by chakra and nails, and for a second, he let himself relax—

Mother and Father clattered to the ground.

 _"What is human life to you?"_

What a pointless question.

Human life, she asked? Nothing but a fleeting dream, blown out as easily as a candlelight.

 _"Why can you only think like that?"_

Why couldn't she see what was right before her? A body unbounded by human lifespan, immune to illness and old age, one that could be recreated over and over again—

 _And he could see her. Her skin, hard and porcelain, devoid of the healthy flush and little freckles she sported, eyes hard, green marbles, so unlike her viridescent hues—_

 _But you can't create human life,_ her eyes said, even when the old hag pulled her back, muddling over mindless excuses to vindicate his nihilistic lifestyle. _And you can't get rid of it either. Because at the end of the day, you're still—_

—human.

A moment of hesitation was all it took.

(And he couldn't bring himself to hate how he died.)

"Sasori."

The flower wilted in his hand, strewn across the meadow for the four winds to carry. The clouds above scattered, and for the first time, Sasori felt the sun on his back, drenched in his hair, dancing across the skin of his wrists and feet.

He did not turn around.

Chiyo placed a hand on his shoulder. Her skin felt warm, in a nice way, but not entirely solid—more like the heat that rose from freshly baked cookies.

"It's time to go."

"Just a minute." The words tasted strange. Sasori twisted the stem one last time, observing in mild curiosity as the sap leaked through and coated his fingers. He shifted, finally turning, facing his grandmother, the sun, in what seemed like a thousand years, and smiled.

 _—and he found, in the midst of their battle, that he enjoyed their fighting. He observed the perspiration soaking her skin, blood and salt matted in her hair, heart racing in her chest, eyes alit in what could only be the embodiment of tenacity—_

 _All the things that made her alive and different._

"Oh?" His grandmother chuckled. "I never thought I'd see the day where you'd say that."

"It's an exception." He replied airily. "...if possible, there are a few things I'd like to...recall..."

He would remember the faint scent of sweat and wild daisies—his mother and father.

He would remember his grandmother's crinkly, wild smile, her deft, skillful fingers, her laughing mouth.

He would remember the rush as he tore down his enemies, dying the sand an all-too familiar red.

He would remember Komushi, all toothy grins and sweatstains—

 _Because it was true. Human life was but a candlelight._

 _But she was an inferno, the will of fire burning through her veins, setting her blood to a boil—_

—and he would remember the girl with fire for eyes and her sensei's will emblazoned on her heart.


End file.
